Vanilla Paradise
by Weaver Blyx
Summary: When the Doctor is captured his companion is given the chance she has both longed for and dreaded—to know, and perhaps claim, the Doctor's heart. This is, in effect, the catalyst to Martha's departure at the end of Season 3. Please read opening note! R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**PLEASE READ FIRST!**

**Scenario and Location: **Towards the end of their partnership, Martha and the Doctor investigate an alien threat on Earth. While in pursuit, the Doctor and Martha are separated, and when the Doctor is captured his companion is given the chance she has both longed for and dreaded—to know, and perhaps claim, the Doctor's heart. This is, in effect, the catalyst to Martha's departure at the end of Season 3.

**Alien Threat: **Telepathic creature capable of mesmerizing and manipulating any perceived threats. Not especially dangerous but a mischief-maker capable of causing ample mayhem. Often indulges in experimental research on mesmerism and mind control.

**Important Note: **To be finished in two parts, unless the events preceding this segment are requested. Let me know if the set up is too confusing and needs explanation.

_**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, per norm. Don't expect anything. R&R!_

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><p><strong>Part 1<strong>

This was not what she had expected. Savage wars, brilliant adventures—these were what enthralled the Doctor's heart. The discovery of far off lands, other worlds, and the constant lure of exploration and danger were what he thrived on. It was almost impossible for Martha to imagine him resisting a taste of the unknown, and yet here was a vision that defied her every preconception, mocking her for her shallow assumptions and lack of insight. It was only a faint image, barely discernable amid the glare of otherworldly attractions surrounding it, but it was still there. She would have given her right arm for a closer look.

_Deeper, _said the thing beside her, a two fingered paw tightening on her shoulder. _Deeper into his heart!_

She couldn't resist the mental prompting, the creature almost propelling her forward through sheer force of will. The Doctor gasped beneath her, his entire form rigid on the stainless steel tabletop, but he did not pull away. It was as if he were bound by some impossible magic. Martha could sense his fight to shield himself from her, but she felt it as if from a distance. The further she reached into his mind her curiosity became less and less sated.

The picture was clearer now. She was in a room, its structure modern (as in her particular age) but the content a mix of periods, one moment Victorian and the next eighteenth, seventeenth century, only to have every old world scheme dashed aside with a piece of twenty-third century gadgetry. There was a single large window and a fireplace, and next to the hearth a broad armchair, hefty enough to seat three large adults. It was midday and the sun came streaming through gauzy white curtains, misted slightly by the natural haze of northern weather, and standing by the billowing, thin cotton was the Doctor. In his arms was the unmistakable form of a child.

Martha inhaled sharply. There was no denying what she saw. The infant was the small, weak shape of a days-old human. The Doctor supported "it" carefully, his gaze attentive yet somehow lost in a flood of helpless warmth. His embrace was protective, almost as if he feared the child would be snatched away. Martha could see his lips moving, the motion slight and deliberate with the formation of words she could not hear to a lullaby she did not recognize.

"Doctor—"

The vision shimmered slightly. Martha saw the Doctor turn as a new someone entered the room. His face lit with a joy startling in its intensity.

"Rose!" he cried. "Oh, Rose—!"

"Shh," the woman said, shutting a door Martha hadn't noticed before behind her. "You'll wake Lilly."

"Not this one," said the Doctor, smiling. "She takes after her Mum in that. Well, I think so. Doubt if I sleep quite so heavily. Why, a Scottish band couldn't rouse her! Not that I'd ever want a Scottish band parading through our parlor, but if the case came to be, why, I still say—"

By this time the woman had reached his side. She silenced him with a kiss. Martha owned it was an effective measure, but it went on perhaps longer than was absolutely necessary, for no sooner did they draw back for breath than this insatiable female was plowing in for more, holding the Doctor by the shoulders as if she thought he might possibly pull back (or stumble, a likelier scenario). Martha felt jealousy burn like acid in her stomach. The Doctor had never looked at her as lovingly or showed the least interest in satisfying her desires.

When at last they disengaged—Martha could think of no other fitting term to describe it—they stood for a moment looking at each other. The woman's back was to her, so she couldn't see, but the Doctor's face was flushed and he was breathing heavily.

"We really shouldn't," he said at last. "Not in front of Lilly."

His tone was chiding but light. The woman laughed quietly.

"I always knew you were going to be the _real _Mum in our relationship," she said. "But you're right and I'm sorry. How you getting on? Been much trouble?"

The couple moved to the window seat. The Doctor rocked the little one quietly in his arms.

"Never any trouble, Rose," he said. "That's Gallifreyan blood, I'll wager. We are excellent children, or would be, given the chance. Other species think we're slightly stunted in development, and I almost believe the Time Lord council thinks so to, reckoning we're only truly _aware _at age eight. Awareness comes so much earlier than that."

"Why on earth would they think infant Gallifreyans stunted?" asked Rose. Martha was keen on knowing as well. It was so rare that the Doctor spoke of his home planet. "I mean—you're brilliant!"

The Doctor's composed expression relaxed at the teasing compliment. His eyes, however, remained slightly darker than before, his long lashes shading them partway from either woman's view. "We are so quiet when first born," he said. "Amazingly quiet. We watch and listen, but rarely speak. When we do speak it's the usual childish prattle—and then silence. You can imagine our parents' confusion and impatience. It seems so hard for adults to remember their childhood, that awkward stage of learning how to do it all. Well, it takes a bit longer for us—well!—it takes time for everyone. The Gallifreyans lacked patience. Couldn't seem to understand they had all of Time to put us to rights."

Rose's face had changed by degrees. Now it was awash with compassion, and she put her hand to the Doctor's cheek, stroking it gently.

"We'll never do that to our Lilly," she whispered. "I promise. She'll have a long, wonderful childhood."

The Doctor's eyes were brimming. Their natural largeness made it all the more startling when he was deeply moved. He couldn't return Rose's affectionate touch, burdened as he was, but his gaze alone spoke worlds of passion.

"Rose," he said. "I'm so happy."

The woman's face blurred slightly, and Martha blinked. The effect was gone in an instant. Again their lips met, this time in a quiet, careful kiss, as if something were required between them that wasn't ardent blood alone. Martha could see the Doctor trembling with suppressed emotion, the tears spilling helplessly down his face. Rose caressed them from him as swift as they came, murmuring against the occasional breathless sob.

"Don't cry," she said, concernedly, drawing back to look at him. "You alright, love?"

"I—yes, yes—I'm fine," he said. He was distracted from her severe if fond look by the child stirring in his arms. "Oh look, she's awake! It's time to feed her! Rose, thank goodness you're back, just in time—!"

Rose's eyes flew heavenward. "Stop fussing. I remembered too, you know."

The Doctor looked down at the child between them. She yawned, stretching small arms and legs. Enormous brown eyes opened wide to see him, and the child hiccupped lightly, her strange, awkward fingers seeking his face. The Doctor exhaled a shuddering laugh at her drowsy attentions.

"She's got your eyes," said Rose quietly, tracing the tiny, smooth brow with her thumb.

The Doctor smiled. It was a weak smile and slightly wan with the effort of making it, but it was there, and genuine. Martha doubted if she had ever seen anything as beautiful as that tired, sincere, and infinitely contented look.

"Nah," he said, "they're you're eyes. See the shading? All browns and golds, chestnuts and maple syrup—"

"Oh hush," Rose giggled.

"She's got your appetite, too." The Doctor shifted the baby to one arm, the motion infinitely cautious. "I can sense it. She's ravenous!"

"Sounds more like someone else," grumbled the woman.

The Doctor laughed and stood. He touched the infant's nose lightly with one hand, then ran his fingers over its round cheeks.

"Rose," he said. "I never thanked you—"

"And you never will." Rose moved beside him, watching with a touch of awe as he studied their child. "It wasn't just me, you know."

Martha was warmed to see the Doctor color slightly. His gaze was still lowered, riveted as the infant reached for him, its awkward, too-large and too-small fingers curling on one of his own. Something in Martha wrenched in seeing that fresh, new hand gripping him, his single long, slender finger thrice the length of its own.

"All the same," he said, lifting his head. "Thank you, Rose. For this and—for everything."

The woman shook her head, tenderly easing stray hairs from his brow. The effort was futile in light of exceptionally perverse strands but it gave her something to engage in that brought her comfortably close.

"You should thank God," she said. "Not me."

The Doctor's eyes widened, reflecting polished brown caught in a stray, gray streak of light. Martha expected some flippant, quick reply, neither offensive nor wholly tolerant. He had never really commented on religion and she had always assumed he thought nothing of it, rather like herself. The Doctor took Rose's hand in his, holding it close.

"I have," he said. "I still am."

Again the scene shimmered before Martha's eyes. This time, try as she might, she could not clear it. It vanished and again she was lost in a world of spinning planets and memories and dreams the entire pallet of the sky, sobering shadows to sapphire blues. There was no midnight, just as there was no blinding radiance. Those elements were hidden in his most internal spots and somehow he had managed to reject Martha from them. She could no longer sense the creature on her shoulder and without its insistence and help it was impossible for her to go on.

Carefully she withdrew from his mind. She didn't want to hurt him. Nonetheless it was difficult for her to be gentle, being in turmoil herself. Who was this "Rose" and why was his dearest wish to have a family with her? To have a _child _with her? To spend his days not in high adventure but in the most banal of exploits, rather like the fantasy of every schoolgirl, marrying and raising a family all his own. Where was the brilliance in that, the attraction that should seize the soul of even an alien being? And who was she that the Doctor accepted her as his "companion" when he was obviously spoken for in his mind, belonging to this other person, this _Rose._

She pulled away from him, a thrill of shock hitting her as she regained her own consciousness. Her entire skull ached and she raised her hands to her throbbing temples. Tears stung her vision and she shook her head vigorously, trying to clear the pain and focus again on the external world. At last she was able to see again and with lucidity came a rush of guilt. She stood hurriedly, looking around the laboratory for the alien being, but it was gone. Chemical tubes and apparatus were missing, the signs of a hasty getaway.

"There's a mission yet unsolved," she said under her breath. "Doctor, I—"

She glanced down at him and froze.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note: **Sorry for the re-post, everyone, but this chapter was striking the wrong note (first time 'round) so I put in some serious editing. Let's see what happens now. Also apologies for update delays._

_**Disclaimer: **Not mine._

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><p>His eyes were open, wide and unseeing. He was motionless, barely breathing, and in his ashen white face Martha read a shock deeper than she had experienced. She knelt by him instantly and a waved a nervous hand inches away from his nose in an effort to rouse him, but there was no response, and she pressed her ear to each side of his chest in turn. It was impossible for her to know what the normal Time Lord pulse would be, but the erratic beat she heard, his twin hearts alternately racing and plummeting, could not be right.<p>

"Doctor," she said, striking his cheek lightly. "Wake up. Come on, wake up!"'

He coughed, a weak sound issuing from blue lips. Then he was still.

Martha felt herself panicking. She smoothed his hair back from his forehead, amazed by the cool dampness of his skin.

"Please come back," she said softly, biting her lip. "I'm so sorry."

The Doctor remained unresponsive. If he heard her he made no sign.

Fear made Martha reckless. This was all her fault. She had no right to invade his privacy against his will, no right to uncover his deepest, most secret desires. Perhaps even the Doctor hadn't fully been aware of what was inside him. There are some dreams so intrinsically a part of someone's nature that they are too close to be seen. The realization of his true self would be striking indeed. Seeing the Doctor motionless, his every sense focused inward, Martha's composure snapped. She leaned forward, cupping his face in her hands.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I've said it before, and I mean it still. I don't know if you're dying or not, but by God I won't lose you to a fantasy!"

She struck him, her open palm against his cheek. The motion was sharp but elicited no reaction from the Doctor. Bracing herself, Martha hit him again, and again, aiming not to wound but revive. Each blow fell hard on her heart, and her hand seemed a dead, heavy weight that she was forced to strain to lift. Tears streaming down her cheeks and gasping for breath, she raised her hand, concentrating all her strength in a final, violent impact.

Her wrist was caught in a viselike grip. Martha gasped, surprised, jerking involuntarily against the unexpected restraint. The Doctor's fingers were like cold, fixed iron. The inattentive mist had left his gaze, but his expression was no less alien, a quiet, reserved hardness replacing his usual light manner.

The Doctor's lips moved, but no sound issued from them.

Martha hesitated. It took all her courage to bend close to him.

"Doctor, did you say something?" she murmured earnestly. "Please, please say something."

"Don't—touch me."

The blood in her veins turned to ice. She tried to speak but her voice failed her; even her acute awareness of the Doctor's unyielding hold could not pronounce the cutting remark that sprang instantly to her mind at the apparent irony of his request. The Doctor lay likewise silent, his lids barely raised. His respiration was strained, as if he had forgotten how to breathe and consciously guided each tight inhalation, his chest rising and falling at an irregular rhythm.

Martha's medical training made it impossible for her to remain passive. She pulled free of him, laying her hand on him and resisting the instinct to stiffen and withdraw when his eyes opened wide at her imposed pressure.

"Are you alright?" she said at last. "For a while there, I almost thought you were..."

Her voice trailed off. The Doctor did not reply. His gaze was full on her, unwavering and piercing. Before, Martha would have thought his mellow, brown pupils incapable of the darker passions, but the look in them now was unlike any she had seen before. There was no fire, no impatience—neither tolerance nor resignation. His eyes were empty, void of feeling, and their lack of sentiment revealed an inner desolation that was somehow more terrible than any excess temper.

"I'm fine," said the Doctor. He was still muted, almost inaudible. "We should leave."

Martha released a tense sigh. "Thank goodness," she said. "I think I've had enough of this place."

The Doctor raised himself carefully on his elbows. Simple as the action was, he trembled visibly.

"You've seen enough, then," he said. "Well! At least I am able to keep you entertained."

It was a strange thing indeed, to hear the Doctor void of humor and warmth. Martha's skin prickled with discomfort and annoyance. Folding her arms on her chest, she watched as the Doctor lowered himself from the table, his long legs buckling beneath his weight. He supported himself against the steel fixture.

"What do you mean?" she said.

The Doctor spoke in a ragged whisper. "You had no right," he said. "No right, to invade what isn't yours—to violate my heart as if you were turning the pages of a book, simply to satisfy your curiosity."

Martha stared at him, her face frozen.

The Doctor searched feebly through his coat pockets. "Oh—lovely—happened again." His lips twisted. "I've lost my _TARDIS _key. Martha…?"

She was motionless.

The Doctor paused, panting. "Martha, do you hear me? Marth—"

_"Hear _you? I _wish _I could stop _listening _to you!"

Her outburst was so sudden and irrepressible that it shocked her as much as him. Martha clapped one hand instantly over her mouth, her mortification evident in raised brows and wide eyes. The Doctor himself remained pallid and shaken. Martha half expected him to pass out.

"What?" he said. "What do you m—"

"Why d'you want me here?" Martha's voice was several notches higher and louder. "What did it mean, when you invited me to travel with you, to share your adventures? Were you even thinking of _me_ at all, Doctor? Or was I just the means to relieve your—your _loneliness? _All this time you were thinking of someone else, but you led me on just so you wouldn't have to be by yourself. You give me just enough hope to shut me up, and then you're pushing me away, not giving me even a chance to prove myself. You know, you were right, Doctor—we humans are weak, foolish, unreasonable. I must've been bats to believe I could ever mean anything to you. But I'd rather be human than a selfish, impossible, and hopelessly stupid—alien!"


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note: **Here's the next chapter! Disclaimer remains: I own nothing.  
><em>

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><p><em>"—hopelessly stupid—alien—!"<em>

Martha turned away. The motion was less furious than it was defensive.

For a moment the Doctor was silent. Then, soft as a whisper,

"Martha."

She ignored him.

"Martha, look at me."

Martha's eyes were on the ceiling, her lips compressed.

"Please."

She breathed a silent prayer for strength. She couldn't face him and remain withdrawn, not knowing how hurt he would be. She would apologize, and whether he would forgive her or not, the upset would end. She didn't want that. She wouldn't fall into the old routine again.

"You're right, you know."

This caught her by surprise. "What?"

"I have been a bit thick. A bit off. A bit, well, hopelessly stupid."

Martha rotated despite herself. _"What?"_

The Doctor's smile was crooked. "There you are. Hello, Martha."

She stared at him incredulously. "What are you saying?"

"I didn't know," the Doctor said. "Actually—did a little—but I thought—" He stopped. "I'm sorry, Martha. That's what I'm saying. I haven't an excuse for asking you to join me, except that I was lonely. So lonely. Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter. Should've known better. Been places, done things. You, you've got a life ahead of you, all thrilling and new. May not look it but, you know, older and wiser. That's me. Will you forgive me?"

Martha's throat constricted. His light tone was forced. She could still read the tension in his taught features, in the tense arc of his shoulders. She thought again of what she had seen and realized that some of the Doctor's pain was not unfamiliar, as if it had always been there. And as cruel as he may have been in his deliberate naiveté, Martha knew some of the fault was hers, too. How had she not noticed before that shadow of hurt and grieving? Hadn't she noticed how quiet he was, their first voyage together? Had her own excitement really blinded her—?

"Please." The Doctor's voice started her from her reflection. Focusing on him again, she saw that the grey in his face had deepened. He moistened quivering lips. "Please, Martha, forgive me."

"No."

His too-bright eyes widened. The Doctor straightened but his arms were barely able to hold him, palms braced against the table behind him.

"I—I promise—" His voice broke.

"I don't want to hear it. I won't forgive you. Not unless _you_ forgive me."

She caught him when his knees gave out at last. They sank to the floor together. The Doctor's fingers twitched on her arms and his chest heaved with labored, constrained breaths, as if he were trying to suppress the emotion she knew was fast overwhelming him. Martha held him firmly.

"It was my fault, too, not just yours," she said. "It was wrong of me, to say you were to blame. So was I."

He gripped her tightly but could not speak.

Martha laid her palm on his back. "That Rose must've been some girl," she said.

He relaxed slightly. Turning his cheek against her shoulder, Martha could feel laughter, only half-hysterical, catching in his throat.

"She was, she is," he said. "My Rose."

"Have you ever considered getting her back?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's—it's a question of time." The Doctor drew back slightly.

"But you travel back in time—er, all the time."

"Different," said the Doctor. "I can't go back to a time I've already visited. That would cause all sorts of problems, lines crossing that shouldn't—a tangled mess. And there are so many strings. It would be impossible to undo the mess without, perhaps, making it even worse than it was before."

"So _you _can't do it."

Martha's emphasis was obvious.

The Doctor glanced at her, frowning. "Wot?"

_"You _can't fix this."

"No. I expl—"

"But, under the right circumstances—" She held up a finger. "—_I _can."


End file.
